Monster
by pinkeop
Summary: Genevive comes face to face with a monster.


**title** Monster

**author** pinkeop

**summary** Genevive comes face to face with a monster.

**authors note** Uhh... Two stories in one day? Cool. Something a little darker. Sweeney Todd is, and let's not forget people, a villian. A monster. Up there with Leatherface and Creeper. Come on. He's not a nice person, as much as we want him to be.

Enjoy?

Love!

Pink Elephants on Parade.

--

**Monster**

The day was warm. Genevive could feel the sun touching her face. The sound of London was all around her, filling her and warming her. It was around noon, maybe a bit sooner. She couldn't quite tell. Her father's arm was tucked around her shoulders as they walked, her cane held a loft, daitily in front of her. She trusted the man at her side to lead her without faults. The world was dark and it had been that way since she was young. It didn't bother her none. It had, at first. Not being able to see. She had resented it at first, even.

When the doctor had told her she'd lost her eye sight for good she thought her life was over. She would be unable to marry, no man would want a wife who was afflicted. She could not be a governess, she wouldn't be able to do the work. But that was years ago. Her father treated her like a gem and did not belittle her for her affliction.

And now she was ripe at 19 years and delightfully happy with her life, traveling with her father on Sunday afternoons through town to the market and other such odds and ends he needed done. Today was a particularly good day. The sun was out, the first time all week, and it felt good to be walking. The garden just did not suit her, as her nurse that took care of her during the week found it silly for her to be walking, and often forced her into her wheel chair.

But now, out with her father, she could walk freely. And the conversation was much better!

"What do you think, my darling?" her father's warm voice was in her ear as they walked through Saint Dunstun's Market. "There's a new barber on Fleet street, not far from where. I was thinking of going in for a shave and afterwards we could have lunch, what say you, my lamb?"

Genevive raised one hand to cup her father's cheek, feeling the soft stubble. "Oh, father," she muttered. "I like you with a little stubble. It makes you terribly handsome, like a sailor." She stroked her fingers over his face before letting her hand drop back to her cane.

"I believe, my dear, you attracted to the wrong men," her father said with a chuckle. Genevive laughed, her own voice like bell chimes in her ears.

"What is this barber?" Genevive asked. "Being stuck inside all week leaves me terribly out of the loop. My nanny is not much for gossip."

"Gossip ages you, love," her father said. She could feel him shake his head. "Nonetheless, his name is Todd, and my dear friend James says he is the best barber in all of London."

"I don't know, father," Genevive said conversationally. "I do so like the smooth cheek that Signor Pirelli leaves on your cheeks."

"Thank you, love," her father said, laughing softly. "But he has gone to a better place than London, I'm afraid, as he was not at the Market last Thursday. I should say I'm in too much dire need of a shave to wait for his return."

Genevive sighed. "Will you be long? I don't much fancy sitting by myself..."

Her father played with her hair. It was blonde, her father often told her like the finest spung silk. And her eyes were bright blue, though unseeing, they often flit around her, as if taking in everything about her. She was slim- though she could feel that when she bathed, with a perfect waist only with a corset pinching her together. When she felt her own face, she often got the impression her nose was too wide of her visage, but her father contridicted that, telling her almost daily how much she looked like her mother, who had passed long ago, before she lost her eye sight.

"Quicker than a flicker," her father promised with warmth in his voice as the two of them walked side by side over the cobble stones. "Watch your step, love." Her cane came down to tap the ground, finding a small step from the side walk into the street. The sound of a horse drawn cabbie was behind them as they crossed the way quickly.

"Here we are," he said lightly. "Mrs. Lovett's and Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor..." He took her cane as he opened the door- she could hear the bell. From the inside, there sounded like pounding. The moment she stepped into the shop, she felt as if there was a crushing weight on her chest. It wasn't a good feeling. It was cold inside, as if the shades on the windows were drawn, and for all she knew they may have been. Goose flesh rose along her skin under the laces of her dress.

"Father," she said quietly, her voice tight.

"Madam?" he spoke over her, touching her lightly on the small of her back. There was the sound of someone dropping something onto a table.

"Oh, goodness! Lookit me, a right mess... Weren't expectin' no customers to day, s'been quite slow all week! Well, here, why don't yeh sit yeh down for a few minutes, and I can get you a nice lovely pie?" The woman's voice was warm enough, a tiny light in the darkness. But the surrounding atmosphere made her uncomfortable. She wanted to leave.

"That would be lovely, m'am," her father said. "I was just about to go up for a shave- is Mr. Todd home?"

"Plyin' 'is trade right up stairs." the woman said. Genevive clutched the lapels of ther father's jacket.

"Lovely," her father said. "Genevive, darling, you sit right here- yes, watch yourself, now, love. I will be down in a tick." He helped her into a seat and her hands came to rest on the top of a wooden booth. She ran her fingers over the grooves and indents of years past.

"Yes, father," Genevive said quietly, her body rigid and stiff. It wasn't until after he left and the sound of steps ont he outside of the building creaked, did she realize he took her cane with him.

"Bugger it," she murmured. The pounding from the left of her continued and she could only assume the baker was right back to work.

"Hey!" the woman said loudly. Genevive turned her head only slightly. There was a long pause. Then, softer. "Hey, wot's wrong wiv yeh?"

"Pardon?" Genevive asked. Foot steps sounded, and then the woman's voice was right beside her.

"Wot's wrong wiv yeh?" she asked again. A small breeze touched her face. Genevive rolled her eyes jerkily. _Everyone_ waved their hands in her face.

"Goodness, me!" the woman panted. "Why, love! Yeh blinder than headless hen!"

"Thank you, m'am, I did not notice," she said in annoyance. The woman's skirts ruffled, and her voice was across from her then.

"S'that yeh father, then, goin' t'get a shave?" she asked.

"Tis," she replied.

"Damn it," the woman said under her breath. Genevive felt that unnerved feeling once more.

"What?" Genevive asked sharply.

"Nuffin, love, don't you worry. 'Ave yeh any problem sittin' 'ere by yehself for a few minutes, then? I've got some pies to tend to down in the bake house. Wont be more then a tick."

Genevive nodded slowly, her fingers playing across the wood of the booth. "By all means," she said by way of pardon and a few seconds later, she was alone. The sound of London out side the shop continued on. The cold seeped through her. She felt as if there was an illness all around her.

"I can't breath," she said gaspingly to the empty shop. She pushed herself to her feet- fresh air, she needed fresh air.

"One," she muttered under her breath, taking a step in the general direction of the door- at least, she certainly hoped was the door. "Two," she gasped. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. The edge of her toe hit the wall- but the wall moved just slightly. Raising her hands, she found the handle of the door, and pulled it open. London's voice hit her and the fresh air brushed her face and the loose strands of hair around her pale skin. A sigh escaped her throat as she took a step out of the shop. To the right, she knew were the stairs. She could hear them creak when her father went up to get a shave.

Perhaps Mr. Sweeney Todd would not mind if she went to wait with him in the shop?

After a few stumbles and spills, Genevive made it to what she certainly hoped was the top of the steps. Hands running along the wall, she found the door, and turned the handle, pushing it open. The bell jingled. Inside, she heard the oddest of noises- a mechanical sound, a clanking and groaning. Foot steps that stopped ever so abruptly. There was a silence in which no one in the room spoke. She could only hear one breath.

"F-father?" Genevive asked quietly. She took a small step into the shop.

There was a calamity of foot steps, after which she felt a tight grip around her arm, the sound of the door slamming closed behind her. She cried out softly, but soon found her body being thrust against a wall, her elbow hitting it roughly, making her entire arm tingle. She couldn't understand what was happening. There was only one person in the room. Where was her father? This was not her father tossing her about like such! It simply couldn't be.

"Impatient little bird, aren't you?" a voice hissed in the darkness. She heard the click of a metallic object. Genevive felt tears well in her eyes and she raised her hands to protect her face from whatever blow was to come.

"Please, sir," she begged quietly. She yelped when a sharp grip on her wrist jerked her to her shakey feet. Another hand, cool with the feel of what she gathered to be a shaving instrument of sorts, grabbed her by the chin, jerking her face forward. She could feel cold eyes raking over her. Another whimper escaped her throat.

"How long were you peeping?" the man hissed.

"P-peeping, sir?" she questioned weakly.

"Peeping!" her captor roared, jerking her around, her body slamming into the wall again. Her arm shot out to level herself, but her wrist slammed wrong into the wall and she heard more than felt the sickening snap. She cried out before a large hand snapped over her mouth. Her face was jerked close and she could feel warm breath ghosting over her face- panting, angry breath. A growl was dragged over rough vocals.

"Where is my father?" Genevive asked when the hand was removed from her mouth. "Please..."

"You cannot see." It was not a question. "Your eyes. They look right through me."

She closed them, tears spilling down her cheeks, squeezing past her lashes. "What have you done to my father?" she asked, her voice becoming shrill, hysterical. Closed fists beat into his chest. There was a loud snarl from her captor and her body was slung back into the wall. Her legs gave out as her head slammed back into the wood. Her butt hit the floor and she felt a trickle of liquid streak down the side of her face, starting from her hair line.

"God, please..." she gasped.

The floor boards creaked as her captor knelt before her. A hand touched her cheek and she flinched. It was a soft hand. Not the hand of the monster that had beat her so readily. But it was the same man. Fingers brushed through her hair, tucking loose strands behind her ears. It was almost loving. Almost sorry. Genevive almost felt sorry for the monster. What made him so angry to strike her? What made him so furious to... she didn't want to think of what he would do to her. The finger tips raced down her cheeks to her cheek. She felt blood smear across her skin where he touched it.

"No," the man said softly. "No God here."

"I have a family," she pleaded. _Had a family_, she reminded herself.

There was a momentary pause in which the monster ran his fingers over the swell of her breast. And then they touched her throat. She swallowed and felt his finger tips move.

"Please," she begged. "I can't even see your face."

"Then you'll be one of the lucky ones," the monster said.

"Will it hurt?" Genevive asked.

The edge of the monster's nose brushed across her forehead, his lips touching the space between her eyes as he spoke. "No."

Genevive nodded, closing her eyes. She heard the light click of what she could only gather to be a razor. The monster's hand cupped her chin and lifted her head, tilting it. His lips, not kissing, simply brushed over her temple as his other hand raised and the blunt edge of the razor, cool against her skin.

There's a time span of four minutes, in which one can still think clearly while the rest of the body shuts down. While you stop breathing and your heart stops beating, your concious thought continues on for a full four minutes before that too shuts down. As Genevive lay, the tingle of blood not exactly a feeling on her throat, she only wished at that moment that she could have seen the monster's face.


End file.
